Housekeeping
by Baroqy
Summary: How does Atlantis remain so clean? There are only two possible answers. Atlantis cleans itself or part of the team that got sent to Atlantis included cooks, cleaners and other unsung heroes...


**Housekeeping**

Summary: How does Atlantis remain so clean? There are only two possible answers. A) Atlantis cleans itself. Or B) (the more likely choice), part of the team sent to Atlantis includes those unsung heroes: the cooks, the cleaners, and the people stuck in the industrial laundry all day. People who never get any fanfic written about them at all…

Note: Marjory Cuthbert and Sadie McDougall are completely fictional characters and have resemblance to any person, living or dead. So there.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

The first time Lt. Colonel John Sheppard encountered Sadie, he was trying to use the transporter to get back to the Stargate operations . He was stuck on one of the lower levels and had to get back for a briefing.

The doors opened and there she was. A woman in her late sixties, no more than five feet nothing in height, brandishing a mop and a bucket and swabbing the floor of the transporter. She was also smoking, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. He had no idea who she was or why she was cleaning the floor.

"Uh… Hi," he said.

The woman didn't reply, just squinted at him through a curtain of smoke while keeping both hands firmly on the mop.

John tried a different tack. "Should you be doing that?"

"What? Cleaning?"

"No. Smoking."

She stopped shoving the mop around, freed up a hand to take a drag of her cigarette and then exhaled in his face, her expression displaying what she thought of his query.

John tried to suppress a cough, looked around at the blue haze gathering above his head and wondered why Atlantis didn't have smoke alarms.

The mystery woman with the bucket and mop now turned her attention to his boots.

"You know, I just cleaned this…"

Before he had a chance to reply, the transporter door opened and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, Enemy of the Wraith and Genii, Always a Sarcastic Line at Critical Moments, Never Met a Situation He Couldn't Handle, beat a hasty retreat.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Marjory Cuthbert had volunteered to provide housekeeping services to the Atlantis mission because she lived alone with her five cats and she was in her sixties and for once in her life she wanted adventure. At first she thought she was going down to Antarctica as part of the services crew for Operation Deep Freeze and would wind up at either McMurdo or Scott Base but then she got through the security clearance, found she could do something that made some stupid chair light up, and the next thing she knew she was in the Pegasus Galaxy. On Atlantis.

Atlantis hadn't impressed her. She'd been hoping for Antarctica because that would have meant penguins and penguins were cute. Atlantis had no penguins and problems with mold and algae growth and a lot of dead plants littering the place and it had taken forever to get the corridors cleaned. It also smelt vaguely of dead fish.

The expedition members of Atlantis rarely saw her but when they did it was in the early hours of the morning where they were confronted with the unnerving sight of Marjory determinedly spraying a deserted corridor with air freshener.

Despite it all, Marjory didn't complain much because her life had been achingly lonely and sad so she'd learnt to say the phrase, "No use complaining" while sighing deeply. It was like complaining but with subtext. Being stuck on Atlantis had initially bothered her because she could never seem to get the place clean. On a more positive note she'd made a few friends, including Sadie McDougall.

They were an odd match. Sadie drank like a fish on her days off and she had the vocal quality of a woman that had smoked two packs a day since she was 12. Every time she spoke it sounded like she was regurgitating the Rancho Le Brea tar pit.

Marjory didn't drink, and didn't smoke. She often wondered how Sadie managed to get away with smuggling cartons of unfiltered Pall Mall onto Atlantis but it appeared no one thought to check her crates of belongings and there were no smoke alarms to be seen. Presumably the previous inhabitants of this particularly old and dirty city hadn't invented that particular vice.

Others may have wondered what Sadie and Marjory had in common but for those assigned to domestic duties on Atlantis it was perfectly obvious. They were united in their universal hate of 'them upstairs'.

Those smug bastards who kept going off world and dragging mud all across their shiny Gate Room floor.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Sheppard strode into Elizabeth's office for the briefing and found her looking unhappy.

"What's up?"

"Sadie McDougall lodged a personal complaint against you."

Sheppard looked confused because he was. He couldn't ever recall a Sadie McDougall being on his team, or being shipped in on the Daedalus, and he prided himself on knowing all of the military personnel by name.

"Who's Sadie McDougall?"

"She's one of our sanitation specialists."

John frowned as he put two and two together and got a mental image of the harridan in the transporter. "Oh, you mean the cleaner."

It was Elizabeth's turn to frown. "We don't call them that."

"Okaaaay. So what did she complain about?"

"She said that you were insulting and belittled her."

"No I didn't, I asked her to stop smoking."

"She was smoking?" Elizabeth seemed stunned at the news since they'd made damn sure in the selection process they weren't going to be lumbered with anyone who would spend a month being in a snippy mood once they ran out of cigarettes.

"Yeah. While she was mopping the floor."

"Right. Thanks for that. I'll go and have a talk with her and try to resolve this."

Sheppard nodded and then thought for a moment before saying, "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure Colonel."

"Exactly how long have we had people mopping the transporters?"

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

The laundry room was always busy. No one had figured out exactly how the Ancients kept their white uniforms so dazzlingly white and consequently a room had been reserved for the four industrial washers and driers sent in by the army.

It took a team of six to keep the clothes, bed sheets, pillowcases, towels, table clothes, underwear, socks and assorted sundries of Atlantis clean and sent back to the correct owners.

Except when it came to the laundry of Dr. Rodney McKay.

In the first month of the expedition McKay had made the mistake of locating the laundry and berating someone about the quality of his socks. They'd started out white and now they were gray and he just wasn't happy with the slap dash nature of their service.

"Hey look!" Escobar Pantera held up a set of underwear that had been starched into a fine imitation of cardboard. "I'd like to see that neurotic Canadian try and put these on."

His friends burst out laughing. Someone else held up four pairs of pink socks.

"Oops. I forgot to separate the whites from the colors."

More laughter. Then they stuffed Rodney's clothes back into the laundry bag making sure they included a still wet towel in the middle and sent it back upstairs.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Rodney had come to dread laundry day. He never knew what he was getting back and over the course of a year he had become increasingly depressed. It was hard going on an off world mission with the added burdens of over starched underwear, damp socks and dirty shirt collars. He'd complained to Elizabeth but the staff down in the laundry room had replied - looking terribly hurt - that they tried their best and sometimes there were mix-ups. They were very, very sorry. Really.

Being sorry didn't fix his problem. A problem he was trying to resolve by himself. Now that they had regular contact with Earth, they were allowed to have personal items shipped back on the Daedalus. He'd made sure his last list included a packet of laundry powder and six pairs of white socks.

No way in hell were they going to beat him. Even if it meant he was going to have to hand scrub every item of clothing he owned using nothing but the sink in his bathroom.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Elizabeth Weir was embarrassed. She never had much call to venture beyond Stargate operations, the living areas assigned to senior staff and the labs. Consequently she was lost. Atlantis was a big place and most of the service crew had been assigned to the east side of the city.

She'd had to ask for directions twice and as she kept walking she noticed that the looks of the people she encountered had changed from the friendly faces of scientists and soldiers to the shocked and unknown faces of people she never had any direct contact with.

After another 10-minutes of walking she found her destination. A door labeled, "Break Room".

She pulled her shoulders back, trying to look like she actually was – the civilian leader of Atlantis – and walked into the room.

The haze of cigarette smoke nearly knocked her right back out of the room. There were at least five people, puffing away, reading tattered old copies of _People_ and _US_ while drinking coffee.

Someone said as they read the magazine, "Hey, Katie Holmes is pregnant." Then they looked at the cover. "Man, this is so old, the kid's probably walking by now."

"I'm sick of getting the magazines out of SGC's infirmary. We should get a subscription."

"The address label might be tricky. Stargate Atlantis, care of Stargate Command. Cheyenne Mountain Military Base. Colorado. "

Elizabeth Weir, unnoticed, cleared her throat in the manner befitting a diplomat trusted by the President of the United States to screw other countries for all they were worth. "Ahem."

Everyone stopped talking and focused their attention on the intruder.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Weir."

This seemed to mean nothing to them. A woman pointed towards the door.

"You're lost honey. The pointy heads are two miles back the other way."

Elizabeth tried not to drop her gaze because dropping her gaze would signify her submission to the group dynamics.

"Actually I was looking for Sadie McDougall."

The same woman that had pointed to the door, held up her hand. "Yes, that's me."

"I was wondering if we could talk over your personal complaint against Colonel Sheppard."

"Sure." Sadie lit up another cigarette and gestured to an empty chair.

Elizabeth looked at the chair, looked at Sadie and knew that she was dealing with a master negotiator. Sadie wouldn't have been able to articulate what she was doing but Sadie automatically knew that the home court always had the advantage and to keep the advantage you never left it. That was the reason for the gesture to the seat. Sadie was never going to be accompanying Elizabeth back to Elizabeth's office in the same way that Elizabeth always wore high heels when having to deal with short dictators from obscure African countries. It was a necessity to keep the other party off kilter without being obvious.

Elizabeth took the plastic seat on offer and tried to avoid looking at the overflowing ashtrays, or breathing too deeply.

"I just wanted to clarify your complaint. I'm sure Colonel Sheppard didn't mean any harm."

"He was rude and he didn't seem to care that he muddied up my floor when I was in the middle of cleaning."

"He said he just asked you to stop smoking."

There was a deadly silence in the room.

"It hasn't been a problem up until now," replied Sadie unhappily.

"We didn't know until now," countered Elizabeth. "I'd be interested in finding out how you managed to get them onto Atlantis."

"They said we could take personal effects. They didn't specify what they were."

Elizabeth wasn't sure how she was going to proceed. It was a delicate matter and even though there was no real proof, apart from Rodney's constant laundry problems, she knew that alienating the entire support staff would have dire consequences for the expedition.

"Maybe I could contact Dr. Beckett and he could help you quit."

Someone said, "He already knows."

Sadie whipped her head around to glare at the blabbermouth. She moved fast for a woman that was pickled by tar and nicotine.

"Shut up," she hissed.

"Dr. Beckett already knows that you smoke?"

No one answered her query but the silence confirmed that it was true. Elizabeth made a mental note. Next stop: the infirmary.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Sheppard noticed that something wasn't right when he got back to his quarters. It seemed 'off' somehow.

Then he noticed the bag of laundry still on the floor, the scattered crumbs of the potato chips from last night still firmly ground into the carpet, and the rumpled bed sheets.

It was Thursday and Thursday was housekeeping day and that meant when he got back to his room it was all tidy and nice and smelled of air freshener.

Instead his room wasn't exactly messy but it wasn't sparkly either. This upset him. He liked Thursdays. The trauma of basic training still lurked in his mind and the prospect of a clean room that he didn't have to clean himself, particularly with a toothbrush courtesy of some hard assed sergeant, made his week worth living.

He couldn't face cleaning his quarters just yet and decided that he would pay Rodney McKay a visit and see if he was having the same problem.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

"Of course I know they smoke."

Elizabeth stood in the infirmary with her arms crossed and couldn't believe that her Chief Medical Officer was blithely telling her that he knew they had a bunch of serious nicotine addicts on staff.

"Would you like to explain to me why you didn't feel the need to inform me?"

Beckett raised his eyebrows at the tortured sentence.

"For a start, I didn't bring any nicotine patches with me. Do you know what they'll be like if they decide to quit?

"I can guess."

"And apart from that, they're being pretty good at keeping it to themselves. From what I can figure out, Atlantis' air recycling system sucks it right out of the room after about 15-minutes or so."

"But it's … unhealthy."

"Aye, that it is. But that's all they've got and I'm can't take that away from them. 'Sides, if I come down hard on them Marjory will stop making me my weekly feed of fish and chips and then I'd be miserable as well."

If her arms weren't already crossed, Elizabeth would have crossed them again because she was cross. Really, really cross.

"Dr. Beckett, are you telling me that you won't help them quit smoking due to some dietary preference on your part?"

"Do you know how hard it is to get decent fish and chips in Atlantis? The chef won't even bother to try and make them and don't even bother requesting mushy peas…"

"Doctor!" squeaked Elizabeth now bordering on outrage.

"Oh for goodness sake's Dr. Weir. Smoking is like drinking gin in the slums during Victorian times. While the socially excluded are doing one of the few things that give them any pleasure, overly educated middle class people are looking down their noses at them and lamenting the bad behavior of the working classes."

"So you're condoning it?"

"No, no. I'm just saying that I'll not be ordering them to do anything they don't want to do. I'll be there to help them if they want to quit and in the interim I'll leave them alone to get on with their thankless jobs."

"Are you implying I don't appreciate their contribution to life on Atlantis?"

"Not at all, but when was the last time any of them got invited to the briefing room for a personal thank-you from the expedition leader of Atlantis?"

Elizabeth didn't immediately reply because the answer was 'never' and she didn't want to admit it. Instead she said something very undiplomatic.

"Well, it's not like they've actually saved the place blowing up or anything have they?"

"Oh really? Are you sure?"

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Sheppard barged into Rodney's room because so far Rodney had been missing in action and Rodney's dulcet tones hadn't been heard for at least four hours. Not in the lab (for which Zelenka was grateful) and not in the cafeteria (for which the staff were grateful) and not in the corridors. If Rodney was not stalking Atlantis berating all and sundry for their stupidity, that only left his quarters.

Sheppard hit the radio control for 'on'.

"Hey, Rodney, I'm coming over."

"No, no you're not. I'm not having visitors."

"Too late, I just walked in the door."

"Oh, for pity's sake."

Sheppard looked around the empty but strangely disorganized room. "Where are you anyway?"

"In the bathroom."

"Doing anything important?"

"Hah. Cute."

The bathroom door slid open and Rodney walked out with his arms covered in soap suds.

"Jeez Rodney, I never knew you were obsessive compulsive, although come to think of it, it wouldn't surprise me…"

"Actually I'm washing my socks if you must know."

Sheppard glanced into the open bathroom. Wet socks hung from the shower rail, and three separate piles of laundry had been placed on the floor.

"Speaking of socks… When was the last time housekeeping came around and cleaned? 'Cause they were supposed to do my quarters today and no one turned up…"

Rodney laughed. "Welcome to my world. They haven't been near me for a year. Why else do you think there's Cheetos dust all over my desk?"

"You got Cheetos? When did that happen?"

"Never mind. Let's just say I have my sources. What did you do to offend them?"

"I asked one of them to stop smoking."

"Bad move. I'd start making sure any packages from Earth now included socks and underwear because you're never going to get either of those back in working order unless you start washing them yourself."

Sheppard tried not to become instantly depressed at the mere thought of having to start scrubbing his own socks and underwear again.

Rodney went back to the bathroom, fished around in the bathtub and pulled out a t-shirt that he'd been rinsing under the cold tap. He wrung it out as best he could and then carried the still dripping item of clothing out onto the balcony.

Sheppard followed him out stunned to learn that Rodney had stretched elastic cord from the balustrade and over to a support strut. Unappealing boxers and a towel were attached with tiny plastic pegs.

"Rodney, don't tell me you ordered this from Earth."

"Yes, and so what? I was getting desperate."

"I would have at least thought you'd have ordered porn or something."

"Right. I'm sure SGC would give porn the big tick of approval."

"Someone's smuggling cigarettes so you'd think porn and alcohol would be on the list as well."

Rodney nodded thoughtfully and finished pegging up his t-shirt.

"God, you're right. Somewhere there's a stash of illicit material that isn't being shared around."

"We should go and find it."

"Yes, yes, we should. But right now I have to do my washing or I won't have any clean underwear for the next mission."

Sheppard made a face. "Ewww."

"I wouldn't condemn my actions when they will soon be yours."

"Thanks for reminding me."

Sheppard turned and headed for the door. "I'm going to find Ronon. He's going to want to help out on something like this."

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Sheppard never had an occasion to drop by Ronon's quarters so he was surprised when he entered. Ronon's room was spectacular. Not one iota of dust to be seen, windows so clean it was hard to tell there were actually windows, polished metal everywhere.

Ronon seemed alarmed by Sheppard's presence.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if housekeeping had paid you a visit and… yes. Yes they have."

It was quite possibly the cleanest room John Sheppard had ever seen. He fantasized about having quarters this clean all through Afghanistan when he'd alternated between sharing a tent and some cramped prefabricated hut with four other people.

Ronon looked embarrassed and Sheppard could imagine why because Ronon had always given the impression that he didn't care for such niceties. If it was food he ate it, if it was liquid he drank it, and if it was vaguely comfortably he'd lie down on it. Now Sheppard was finding out that Ronon had a quirk. A completely understandable quirk, but a quirk nonetheless.

"So, they obviously like you," said Sheppard, hoping for more information.

"Yes. They like me because I'm nice to them."

"Define what you mean by 'nice' ".

"I mean I go down and visit them. Sometimes I bring them back a present when I'm off world."

Okay, so now Sheppard knew why Ronon spent so much time hanging around traders when he could find them.

"So you're friends with them?"

"Yes, I guess it could be called friendship." Ronon seemed reluctant to talk much more about the mysterious people who cleaned his room.

"Huh," replied Shepaprd.

"Why huh? Don't you go down there?"

Sheppard shrugged and suddenly felt guilty. Here was an entire group of people doing a hell of a job keeping Atlantis running smoothly and he didn't even know they existed except in some theoretical way. Someone came and took his laundry away and that 'someone' had remained a nameless, faceless drone.

Oh dear.

"Uh… no, I haven't really been down there. Look, I gotta go and find Teyla. Uh. Thanks."

With that he exited Ronon's quarters completely forgetting the original plan to go and find the stash of contraband because upon reflection, his own uppity behavior was in need of more urgent attention.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Elizabeth Weir was fighting with the realization that it was entirely possible she was a snob. Not a snob in the 'I'm entirely too good to be seen with you' way but in more of a 'I run 5-kilometers every day and eat salads and have a BMI of 20 and do yoga for relaxation and allow myself a glass of red wine once a week and a chocolate one a year' kind of health fascist way.

Damn it, she couldn't help if it she could squeeze herself into a size six. It's just the way she was built. To her horror she realized she was actually thinking, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

She'd been shocked to see them. People who enjoyed their vices, and had graying hair and wobbly bits that sagged. It was later, after talking to Beckett, that she'd mentally reviewed her expedition's resumes in her head and come up with picture after picture of good looking people. Even the not-so-good looking people weren't that bad looking. Zelenka may not have won any prizes but he was thin. Rodney was pleasant enough in his own way. Beckett somehow managed to apply enough product to his hair to get it to perk up into a modified David Beckham Mohican. The military side of her expedition, however, were impossibly good looking. Chiseled jaws (both genders), rock hard muscle (both genders), fantastically long eyelashes (both genders), and great hair (both genders).

My God, it was awful. She had selected them all on looks.

Elizabeth ran back to her office to hide in shame.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

If Sheppard had been surprised by the level of cleanliness in Ronon's quarters, he was flabbergasted by the quality of Teyla's. Freshly cut flowers, freshly painted walls in the color of Teyla's choice, cleaned carpets… It was like he'd landed in an upmarket Hilton or a Sofitel.

"Do you get a turn down service too?" He asked sarcastically.

"A what?"

"You know, someone comes into the room to fold down the sheets and leaves chocolates on the pillow."

Telya seemed confused. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Because… it's just something they do. On Earth. In the better hotels."

The furrowing of Teyla's brow indicated that his explanation hadn't increased her understanding at all. It was like trying to explain television all over again. The Athosians now lived under the impression that humans spent their entire time praying to a box that made them miserable by showing them things that they could want but never afford. Or if they could afford it but wouldn't want it two days after buying it. Or they would buy anyway, even if they couldn't afford it, and then regret the bills.

His eyes watered when he recalled the torturous day he had tried explaining credit cards.

"Colonel, why does it matter to you what my quarters look like?"

He opened his mouth to try to enlighten Teyla but that would have involved a long story about basic training and he doubted she'd understand the finer points of being forced to do pushups in the mud, or clean an entire bathroom with a toothbrush or standing to attention for hours on end because Teyla would probably say something profound about a warrior working hard because they were called to be a warrior, not because a drill instructor yelled at them.

Instead he changed the topic's direction. "I was wondering if you knew Sadie McDougall."

"Of course."

"Can you take me to meet her?"

"I can do that. She is a very busy woman however, so I will have to inquire as to an appropriate time."

"I was hoping for now."

"I am not sure that would be suitable."

Then the penny dropped for Sheppard.

"You're scared of her."

"I am not."

"Then why don't you want me to meet her?"

Teyla's expression said it all. Her fear haunted eyes held untold tales of encounters with women who might not have been much use in hand-to-hand combat but could have easily reduced the Wraith to tears by making such leading statements as, "You look pretty but you'd look even prettier if you just lost a few pounds."

Then it hit him too. That's why they were afraid of Sadie McDougall and her brethren. They were like those grandparents Disney never made movies about. The ones that baked inedible cookies, and when their grand kids came around to visit regaled them with stories about having to walk to school in their bare feet in the middle of winter and that it used to be acceptable to smoke when they were nine "because there was a war on" and they'd done it all their lives and they weren't about to give up now.

Sheppard flashbacked to his own grandmother. She'd owned a bar with her husband in Nevada during the Depression and their patrons had been the hard working, hard drinking men on the Hoover Dam project. Then she'd become a WAC in WWII, followed by a stint traveling around the world with her husband as he continued his Army career. This was not a woman who coddled her grandchildren. Sheppard did not look forward to Sunday visits with the grandparents. Not when meals consisted of reheated meat loaf and long conversations about the size of holes made in people's bodies by flying shrapnel.

There was only one way to handle uncuddly grandparents. Apologize for everything. Even for existing. Then agree that yes, kids these days were bad and no one appreciated any of the sacrifices made by the older generation.

He had a plan of action, and as a military man, this gave him some comfort. Now he just had to execute it and save Atlantis from years of dirty carpets and stained clothing.

"Teyla, take me to her. I know what to do."

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Marjory Cuthbert knew almost every centimeter of Atlantis because there had been a lot of corridors to clean and a lot of air freshener to spray.

But tonight she had wandered into a part that she'd never explored. It was on one of the lower sublevels and she had arrived there by following her nose. Wherever the vague smell of long decayed sea life lingered, Marjory would find it.

Of course it also helped that whatever thing made the chair in Antarctica light up, was also the thing that allowed her to move freely about Atlantis. She'd never questioned why she spent so much time in deserted and seemingly unexplored parts of the city. She just walked by and lights would light up, and doors that were closed would swish open and consoles that looked like computers would start talking to her about things she didn't understand and didn't interest her. Honestly, sometimes the computers seemed disappointed. They kept imploring her to push buttons and activate previously inactivated parts of Atlantis. She didn't like pushy people, let alone pushy artificial intelligence.

So she ignored them and never thought much about these odd moments. Merely polished the talking and sometime hysterical consoles and made sure the floor was clean before she left.

This room however, the one that was at the end of a long corridor she'd been cleaning, seemed to be stranger than the other rooms. It was pure white and in the middle was a big crystal thing. It was quietly glowing away to itself. It was strange and peculiar but she figured that the scientists of Atlantis must have known about it because the room was far cleaner than anything else she'd encountered.

This made her happy because she wouldn't have to do anything and that would make the bursitis in her knees happy as well.

Before departing, curiosity got the better of her and she peered closer at the big crystal. A flickering image of a man, dressed in white robes promptly appeared in mid-air.

Marjory jumped back in fright.

The man wasn't looking directly at her and it dawned on her that he was one of those holograms that the muckity mucks up in the Control Room had reported seeing.

"Welcome child of Atlantis. We are pleased that you have come home."

Marjory regarded the man. "Hello."

The hologram just smiled and waited so Marjory presumed he was waiting on her to ask a question.

"Where am I?"

"You are in one of the backup generator rooms for Atlantis. We keep the backup Z.P.M in here, shielded from the Wraith and other enemies of Atlantis. If you do not know about this room, then you never know about this room."

"That's nice dear. How do you keep it clean?"

The hologram looked blankly at her. Maybe the Atlantians had never thought that a descendant would be asking questions about cleaning. She tried a different question.

"Is the Z.P.M important?"

"Yes, it is very important. The Z.P.M powers Atlantis."

Marjory wondered if the scientists of Atlantis would be interested. Probably. They wouldn't thank her for it but she figured this Z.P.M thing would at least allow people without the ability to make chairs light up explore some of the dirtier nooks and crannies of Atlantis. Thus removing some of the cleaning responsibility from her bowed and crooked shoulders.

"Well dear, if you don't mind, I think I'll just take it."

The hologram didn't reply but the insipid smile came back again thereby acting as the Ancient's equivalent of a Windows XP operation error.

She went up to the console and seemed to instinctively know which buttons to push. The Z.P.M popped out of its container and she slung it under her arm and marched back towards the nearest transporter. She supposed the best thing to do would be to take it to that Elizabeth Weir woman. Marjory wasn't so sure she liked Dr. Weir but she had a grudging admiration for anyone who could keep the entire city ticking over despite the constant crises.

She wondered if Dr. Weir would be pleased to have the Z.P.M.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Teyla had insisted on gathering supplies before their trip to meet Sadie. She had gone to a chest of drawers in her quarters and taken out a box of Athosian candy, a scarf made of an Athosian silk like material, and she'd written a small note on hand made paper. She'd written, "Thank you for all your hard work, love Teyla." Then she'd drawn little hearts on the paper. Then she'd handed the paper to John, along with a pen.

He'd never been any good at writing nice notes thanking people for their badly chosen gift but Teyla had the right idea. Put the enemy at ease.

"Pity we don't have any cigarettes."

"Those sticks that she puts in her mouth?"

"Yeah, them."

"I do not like them but I have noticed that she gets agitated when I hint that they are bad for her. The first time I did that I was forced to give them a live goat before they would talk to me again."

Sheppard didn't bother to ask about the live goat because he just didn't think he could cope with the answer. Also, he hoped that the groveling he was about to do would be enough and not include the need to locate livestock.

He tapped the pen against his teeth and signed the paper with "Love Sheppard" even though he didn't love Sadie one little bit and drew a cute airplane and hoped it would be enough to open the door to negotiations.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Marjory had stopped on her trip to the Control Room to apply some lemon scented Pledge to the Z.P.M. After 10,000 years cooped up in the secret backup room it was dusty and like everything else in the city smelt vaguely of dead fish.

Once she'd managed to make it shiny, she tucked it back under her arm and trudged her way up the stairs to Dr. Weir's office, ignoring the open mouthed stares of everyone she passed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dr. Rodney McKay – the man who everyone in support services had a personal vendetta against – jump out of his chair and try to intercept her.

She had spent her entire life cleaning other people's messes and spent a good deal of time coping with the aftermath of office Christmas parties so she easily side stepped him while using her free hand to smack him in the head.

As he reeled back holding his nose and screaming something about assault, she breezed into Weir's office.

Elizabeth Weir was working on her laptop amongst a pile of screwed up paper. Apparently no one was emptying her waste paper basket anymore.

"Dr Weir, I think this could be useful."

Then without any further ado, Marjory plunked the Z.P.M on Dr. Weir's desk.

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Sadie was sitting her usual place working her way through a packet of Pall Malls. Sheppard thought she looked exactly like Marlon Brando from the Godfather, right down to her mustache. Behind her stood two big guys that Sheppard had never seen before. They were wearing blood stained aprons and sunglasses. Sheppard began to realize what might have happened to the goat and why they kept serving 'casserole' in the cafeteria.

Sheppard and Teyla were seated opposite Sadie, trying to look interested, polite and choking down any urges to cough.

Teyla had forced a smile on her face and passed over the gifts.

"I am sorry I have not visited in so long. I have been busy off world."

Sheppard kept his mouth shut but reminded himself that later he would need to explain the meaning of the expression "liar, liar, pants on fire" to Teyla.

"That's alrighty Teyla. You're a nice girl and so we know that you're not avoiding us or anything." Sadie said the last bit with a tone that said she knew jolly well that Teyla had been avoiding them.

Sadie turned her dark gaze to Sheppard. "So what's what's-his-name doing here?"

Teyla kept her expression parked in neutral and then smiled again.

"He realized that he has offended you deeply and would like to apologize."

"Oh he would, would he?"

Sheppard turned on his charm school smile and said, "Yes, he would. Very much so."

Sadie made it clear from her deep drag on the cigarette that she didn't believe him for one second. She was however, willing to compromise.

"The fact that you came down here is something I suppose."

"I just realized that I'd never been down to this part of the city before and you know that was… bad of me." Sheppard was one minute away from batting his eyelashes if he had to because everyone knew that he'd been selected for his ATA genes and his great eyelashes. Eyelash batting had been effective in many alien negotiations.

Sadie was completely immune. Instead she studied both of them, the Athosian candy and the Athosian scarf. Then she picked up an old copy of People, leafed through it before putting it down again, her decision made.

"Two live goats, and three more boxes of candy."

Teyla and Sheppard nodded eagerly.

"I haven't finished yet. I also want a subscription to _People, US _and _Mirabella_."

Sheppard wasn't sure about that one. "I'm not sure we can-."

He didn't finish because Sadie held up her hand to silence him. "You'll find a way. If we don't have more regular updates on Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes and the baby Atlantis will never have clean toilets ever again."

With that grim proclamation, Sheppard shut his mouth and nodded. Yes, he'd have to find a way. There wasn't any other choice.

On a more positive note, Sadie smiled. An act that made Sheppard want to run away in terror. Then she said, "I'll get someone up to your room Colonel and get those potato chip crumbs right out of your carpet."

Sheppard reached over to shake her nicotine stained hands because he was so grateful but before he could complete the act, he was interrupted by the radio. Elizabeth was making a city wide announcement. He hoped it was short. Elizabeth had a tendency to babble on when she had an open mike to everyone and it wasn't good for people's attentions to wander in boredom just as she was relaying a critical piece of information.

"This is Dr Elizabeth Weir. I have an important announcement to make. A second, fully charged Z.P.M has been discovered by Marjory Cuthbert. In recognition of her amazing find, I'm awarding everyone a day off and having an official ceremony to mark this special occasion."

Around Atlantis everyone cheered and then looked at each other and said, "Who's Marjory Cuthbert?"

((--)) ((--)) ((--))

Ever since Marjory's discovery of the second Z.P.M, relations between support personnel and the rest of Atlantis had improved dramatically. Rodney's laundry was being delivered clean, dry and ironed. Most of the thawing in opinion had been due to Elizabeth's incredible efforts at holding a big ceremony. She'd given awards to nearly everyone she could find. The awards had been knocked up by Zelenka the night before using polystyrene,spray painted gold, and labeled 'special commemoration medals'. Then she'd held several dinner parties and placed a big order with the Daedalus to bring back two crates of cigarettes.

Finally she'd personally shown Marjory and Sadie around Stargate operations and had Sheppard fly them in a jumper to the mainland. Sadie had stocked up on Athosian candy and Marjory had amused herself by berating everyone about the cobwebs gathering in the corners of their huts.

Elizabeth was pleased with herself. Things were better than they ever had been. She even made sure she paid regular visits down to the eastern side of the city just to keep relations ticking along.

It was on her one of her visits that she broached the subject that had been bugging her. How had things become so bad? Why did the support crews resent the rest of them so much?

Sadie and Marjory regarded her in amazement. Sadie had just finished reading the March issue of People which wasn't too bad considering it was April in Atlantis.

"You really don't know do you?" Sadie said, this time without any hint of sarcasm.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. But I'd really like to know because whatever it was clearly upset everyone."

Sadie and Marjory looked at each other. Sadie hunched forward in her chair to look Elizabeth in the eye.

"You know that time you evacuated Atlantis due to the hurricane?"

Elizabeth nodded and then as she pondered what Sadie said she was hit with the full comprehension of just what she'd done.

"Oh no…" She didn't finish her sentence.

"Yes, that's right Dr. Weir," Sadie continued. "There weren't just 10 people on Atlantis when the Genii took the city. We were there as well. Sealed off in the east side. You totally and completely forgot out us deary."

"I'm sorry. So sorry," said Elizabeth. Because she was. There was no way she could make up for a bungle this big. She didn't even know they'd managed to get a generator running on that side.

"Not to worry deary, because that's when Marjory discovered an escape tunnel."

Marjory nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! It's some sort of forcefield that comes out of Atlantis and let's you walk around on the sea floor. It would have been a bit more exciting if the sea floor wasn't so dirty."

Elizabeth felt dizzy again in the same way she'd felt dizzy when Marjory had deposited a fully functioning Z.P.M on her desk.

"There's an escape tunnel?"

"Yes," said Marjory. "When we got to the other end of the tunnel on the mainland, we found out there was a bomb in Atlantis and came back and disarmed it. But that's another story…"

**The End.**


End file.
